No Time
by Itsygo
Summary: Arkarian X Isabel
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.**

**Arkarian**

"She had an arrow in her heart, Arkarian!" Isabel cries. I clasp her hands with mine to stop them from shaking, but she breaks free, standing up. I straighten myself and pull her into my arms. The top of her head barely reaches my collarbone; her tears create two wet spots on my chest. "I don't want this," she whispers. "I don't want this skill. I don't want these visions!"

"Isabel..."

"I don't want to see people die." _I don't want to see you die._

Her thought leaves me speechless, and I embrace her more tightly. Her short nails dig into my back as she attempts to bring us even closer. A tear rolls down a blue eyelash and disappears in her flaxen hair. I bury my face in it, breathing in her scent – herbal shampoo and baby powder. She groans, sniffing, and rises to her tiptoes, leaning her wet face against mine. I give her a light kiss which she returns, biting my lower lip, forcing my mouth open. Her tongue glides in, dancing against my teeth and the sensitive pink flesh, provoking my tongue to reciprocate. She tastes like salt and mint toothpaste. I pick her up – easily, as she is incredibly light - and she wraps her legs around me. It is getting too intense too quick; her convulsive thoughts all center on the tumescent shaft pushing against her loose track pants. Before I can get any harder, I grab her waist and rip my body from her grip, setting her down. She looks at me with glazed, unfocused eyes and breathlessly reaches for my waistband. Cold sweaty fingers connect with warm sweaty skin. I don't want her to stop, but I remove her hand nonetheless.

Her face contorts into an angry red grimace. I open my mouth to pacify her, tell her why we cannot do this, but I don't know what to say. That she's too young? I come from an era where the only virginal girls upwards of the age of thirteen were found in convents. She's not ready? She is; the only hesitation comes from her insecurity, the idea that her inexperience will somehow embarrass her. She's too upset and that is causing her to rashly do something she normally wouldn't? This is ludicrous. She knows her feelings better than I do. Maybe the problem is me. I am afraid of hurting her, but she wants this, so how can abstinence possibly protect her?

I reach out, caressing her flushed, moist face. She kisses the base of my thumb.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" I ask. Kissing my palm again, she nods.


	2. Chapter 2

**Isabel**

My heart races; I am ready, but I cannot help feeling nervous. I wish we were somewhere dark, where I don't have to face Arkarian's inquisitive eyes. Reading my thoughts, he takes my hand and begins walking, probably to one of the locked off rooms whose doors I always see in the dark corridors. Before we reach the exit, though, Arkarian's name pulses through the chamber, spoken by two elated, giggling voices. Matt and Neriah. Arkarian transports them back into their bodies and frowns at me. "There's still Dillon to go."

I shrug, and pull on his hand. He leads me into the hallway; in the dim light I see a door open, and that is where we go, embracing and kissing. I push him onto the bed I see in the flicker of a candle, my impatience placating my nerves. He helps me out of my coat as I pull off his shirt, revealing skin the color of apple flesh. The smoothness of his upper body always amuses me – the notion that someone whose life spans over six centuries (or wouldn't it be seven? I was never that good with math.) is underdeveloped is ridiculous, but in point of fact, Arkarian's body stopped aging before growing proper chest hair. Not that I am complaining: I love the downy feel of his peach fuzz, and besides, a clump of electric blue curls would look idiotic on anyone's thorax.

His cheeks turn crimson at my critique of his body, and to conciliate, I plant a bunch of kisses on his breastbone. His hands hover inches away from my midriff, and I get the feeling that he wants to remove my wife beater without seeming too forward. I crawl into his lap, kissing his mouth and chin and neck, closing his fingers around the cotton hem. He pulls the garment up, over my head, and not having put on a bra, I am left topless. Arkarian's thumb grazes my nipple, hardened in the cold air. I press myself against him; his body is large and warm, his heartbeat rapid and uneven. He lets out a quiet moan and draws me closer by the waist so that I am practically sitting on his erection. I become jittery, unsure of what to do. What if I make a complete fool of myself? What if I turn him off?

Sensing my tension, he cups my face with his hands and lifts it up. His beautiful eyes study mine, their strange irises reflecting the tiny flame.

_I want this, Arkarian_, I assure him with my thoughts before blocking them from him. I want this because the war is approaching, and I don't know if any of us will survive. The prophecy has changed – what if we are all destined to die? We have no time left, no time for half-measures and hesitations. If something happens to us and we don't do this, I will regret it for the rest of my existence, whatever world I am in.

He nods, and wraps a blanket around us. I assume he does it for my sake, since I am more comfortable this way. I kick my sneakers off and they hit the thick carpet almost soundlessly.

I feel his touch on my hips, gliding down and lowering my pants. I am left in my favorite underwear, a pair of satin boxers. He pulls them off as well, and now I am completely naked except for a pair of socks. Strangely, I feel less anxious, even as Arkarian places my fingers on his belt. I unbuckle it, and unhook the top button; Arkarian does the rest himself.

His legs are muscular but soft, and although they are considerably hairier than the rest of his body, the growth is silky. His body is amazing. I know he works out at the Citadel, but it is hard to picture it because he seems more like an intellectual type with little regard for physical activity. Then again, in this world he is restricted to these mountain chambers, and they don't exactly require bodily exertion.

"What's your favorite sport?" I ask. His lips separate from my shoulder and he looks at me, purple eyes shining. "Swimming. And Archery," he adds as an afterthought. I nod and kiss the hollow of his neck. His head, the other one, rubs against my stomach. It is incredibly warm and smooth. Tentatively, I take it in my hand. Arkarian breathes out, teeth sinking into my flesh, his sweating fingers closing around mine, holding them in place. It feels thick, but then, my hand is small. And if I feel any pain, I can always heal myself. I rise to my knees, ready.


	3. Chapter 3

**Arkarian**

I push her off of me. She looks surprised more than anything else.

"Matt is here."

"No!" She seethes, throwing down the blanket and frantically looking for her clothes. I find her top and hand it to her, pulling on my pants. Matt is standing at the mountain entrance, sending furious thoughts my way. I locate my shirt and throw it on, inside out, and open the door for the apoplectic immortal. While Isabel fumbles with the rest of her clothes, I give the back of her neck a quick kiss, and leave the room to greet her brother.

He is waiting, rabid, face blotched with red spots. His mouth opens, and I hastily speak before he has a chance to say anything.

"I know you're mad," I understate, "but before you see Isabel, you have to let me explain."

He just about explodes. "What is there to explain? Is Isabel with you, or not?"

Isabel barges out from behind me, stepping in between us. Her thoughts are a thundering mess of outrage and wrath.

"Will you slow down a minute?" she yells at Matt. Undaunted, he glares at her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Not that it's any of your business, but we were just trying to find a few moments to be together."

"You can explain all you like at home," he snaps at her. I expect her to scream in a conniption, but she regains her composure, breathing heavily. Matt's authoritative, paternal attitude makes it difficult for her to directly disobey him, even though she thinks he is in the wrong.

"Matt, you're overreacting."

"I saw your bed, Isabel," he points to her chest accusingly. "You planned this. _That_'s what I'm upset about. The secrecy."

"Matt," I suspire. To my previous knowledge, Isabel came with Jimmy's blessing and without any clandestinity, and only because she was upset with her vision. There have been other times though, and it is on their account that I speak. "If you calm down you'll realize the only reason we came here in secret was because of the reaction we expected from you."

"Oh, really? How do I know you're not lying when you just proved how deceitful you can be? Isabel," he turns to her, "I want you to come home now."

"You can't tell me what to do," she grits her teeth. "Matt, I'm sixteen, and you're not my father!"

"Well he's not here, is he?" he snarls, evoking a flash of hurt in her brown eyes. She sighs, deflated, and follows her brother outside, casting a long, pained look at me. With dread and regret, I close the door.


End file.
